#FFF271

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

A Delicate Flower

Martha Hudson may seem frail and vulnerable to people who don’t know her. Those who have made her acquaintance in one capacity or another, retracts their claim quite quickly. Even the British government has a secret appreciation for her. She’s a force of nature, just like her two tenants upstairs. Speaking of…

“NO! Absolutely not!” John shouts.

Martha picks up on Sherlock’s protest but not his exact words. Therefore, she hurries to grab a tin of biscuits to bring upstairs. It’s been silent for weeks, and she has begun to wonder if John has tamed Sherlock into a boring adult. 

When she emerges in the doorway to 221B, she regrets that she didn’t bring popcorn. Sherlock’s tantrum is at least a seven on Martha’s secret scale. (Mind you, not only consulting detectives have those.) 

“It’s my blog, John!” Sherlock exclaims. “To do with as I please. You’ve said it yourself that it’s too scientific. Adding you into the equation, will make it much more interesting. People want to know things about you too. I don’t understand why it bothers you to this extent.”

His hands have done significant damage to his curls. He looks like a mix between a deranged scientist and a petulant child. In Martha’s book he’s habitually both.

“Well, it does,” John counters defiantly.

The good doctor is childishly stubborn sometimes, but he rarely budges if the topic is important to him. More often than not, it’s the delicate flower of a genius that gives in when he realises that the battle is lost. And then, he craves the physical closeness only his army doctor can provide.

Martha looks around, trying to discover what the argument is about. When she realises what it is, she’s glad she didn’t choose the popcorn, or John would’ve needed to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre on her.

She stifles a laugh and Sherlock stares daggers at her. He actually stomps his feet like a toddler, and a choked sound escapes her throat.

Petri dishes with different ash samples are placed on the kitchen table. Each item is carefully marked. Martha only glimpses a few that are in her field of vision.

John’s shoelaces – Wool from John’s favourite jumper – John’s pants (the red/sexy ones)

Martha leaves the biscuit tin on the table and descends to 221A to indulge in her herbal soothers. 

Murmuring voices half an hour later tell her that peace has been restored. For now.

----------------------------------------------------------

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[flashfictionfridayofficial]

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[#FFF271 Tantrum Entrance]

Who is having the tantrum? Why? What caused them to enter in such a manner? All those emotions building up and up and up until they explode! We want to read all about them, so get writing! Go, go, go!

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The Collective <3

[leighrobertsreads]

@flashfictionfridayofficial

No more tantrums, Abuela!

Fandom: Encanto (2021)

Characters: Dolores, Pepa, OC child, Mirabel, and various other Madrigals

Relationship: Mirabel/Bruno (implied)

Rating: G

Word count: 440

Also read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59104774

“Sobrina segunda”, or literally “second niece” is the younger generation of what English calls “first cousins, once removed”.

Cecilia Guzmán Fernandez shoved up against the dress her mother was struggling to get over her crown-braided head.

“Cecilia! Please!” Dolores nearly joined in with her own tears.

Her daughter’s scream pierced her unprotected ears. “I want my RED DRESS!”

“But Tía Mirabel made this one just for you!”

“I hate it!”

“Cariño, you liked it when she was hemming it!”

“I don’t like it now.”

Dolores heard her mother’s hand brush the doorknob.

“Cecilia, we’re going to be late. You can wear your red dress at the party, but they really want you to wear this one in the wedding.”

Her mother opened the door, and was followed in by Mirabel wearing a dress so stunning that Dolores thought it was a shame that it would soon hit the dye bath. Her cousin had leaped into the alterations to her white feast day dress as soon as word of the dispensation miraculously being granted reached them.

“What’s wrong, mi corazón?” Mirabel carefully picked up the front of her skirt as crouched to question her sobrina segunda.

“I want my red dress!”

Dolores’ quick-thinking cousin replied, “will the white dress be better if I add a red flower?”

Cecilia sniffed. “Yes.”

”Oh, no you don’t,” Dolores’ mother said to her niece as she got up and scrambled to the door. She leaned out the door and yelled, “Julieta, get Agustín’s sewing kit! We need red thread.”

Tía Julieta rushed in with the requested bag. “Mi vida, your hair!”

”This will take two seconds,” Mirabel promised, quickly making a little circle of daisy stitches on the right shoulder of the little dress that was causing so much trouble.

Mirabel held the dress up for Cecilia’s approval. “You were right - a flower girl needs a flower on her dress. Do you like it?”

“Very much!”

Dolores shared a quick sigh of relief with her mother, then slipped the dress over her now-cooperative child, and Tía Julieta herded her own child into her and Tío Agustín’s room.

“You sure about this, Miraboo?” Before the door closed, the uncle she’d known all her life brought up the argument that had been running practically since Cecilia’s christening, but with far less heat than before.

Her own mother got a little drizzly as she put the small white flowers Isabela had left into Cecilia’s braid. “I never thought this day would come…”

“This wedding?” Dolores asked.

“No - the chance to get my brother back!” A clap of thunder pierced Dolores’ ears, and a few seconds later, a yelp from over at the rectory.

“Pepi’s just blowing off steam, Bro,” her father re-assured.

“Buela!” Cecilia scolded. “No tantrums!”

[renee-writer]

A Fit

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial #271 prompt Tantrum Entrance. Outlander Fanfiction. Mood board pictures via Pinterest.

AO3

It starts without warning. It is a week after she turns two. One minute she is quietly playing with her dolls and the next, she is on the floor. Her face is blood red, her fists beat against the carpet while her feet thump. An unhinged scream fills the room.

 

Claire jumps up from the couch while Jamie runs in from his office.

 

“Bree, what is it?” Claire looks for signs of any injury. Jamie after confirming that his wife and daughter isn’t under attack, turns to Brianna. She still lays screaming on the floor.

 

He sees it straight away in the rage his child is showing. Himself. His sister. The Fraser temper coming out.

 

“Bree please. Where are you hurt?” Claire kneels down beside her.

 

“She isn’t .”

She looks up at her husband. “Jamie, there must be something.”

 

“Aye. She is mad. Throwing a fit. That is her first real temper tantrum.”

 

“Good Lord,” She still frails about, her face almost as red as her hair, “What do we do?”

 

“Let her be. She will wear herself out eventually. Then cuddles and a good nap.”

 

She stays beside her until, as her daddy predicted, she lays still and breathless, her face splotchy with spots of red and white.

 

Turning to her mama, she climbs in her lap, thumb in mouth.  Claire holds her close.

 

“It is okay Bree. Mama’s here. Big emotions, eh? To much for your little body. The Fraser in you. God help you. God help us all.” She rocks her until she falls asleep.

 

Jamie lifts her up then and carries her to bed.

 

“Welcome to two.” He laughs as he helps his wife up.

 

“Lovely eh. I pray three is better. We will have another by then.”

 

It takes him a minute. Then his mouth drops open.

 

“You are ahh we are?”

 

“Yes. Another is on the way.”

 

They laugh and pray that the coming baby is less of a storm then Bree.

[baubeautyandthegeek]

Torment And Tantrums - Jenny Lind/Charity Barnum

A/N: Newest prompt for @flashfictionfridayofficial

“Stupid….” Jenny’s voice is echoing in the hallway even as Charity moves to continue packing, barely sparing the redhead a glance as she continues to pack, watching Jenny only when the woman’s voice cracks. “He… lied…” The tantrum entrance had been expected, Charity had to admit. She knew, well enough, what PT had done. Dangled love, romance, in front of Jenny only to pull away and run off back to the circus. Well, he would be going. “He lied… Charity…” Jenny’s voice shakes as she turns to look at Charity, the blonde finally stepping closer to brush tears from Jenny’s cheek, drawing her gently closer and stroking her back gently, her voice sweet. “He doesn’t mean to Jenny…. He just gets distracted… by work. Or ideas.” Jenny’s breathing hitches and Charity sighs, her grip tightening when PT slips bashfully into the room, not letting Jenny move away or look at him. “Jen…” “You promised you’d treat her better, us….  Us better. You promised you’d not do this… you wanted her badly enough to bring her home, now look… look at her, look how much you hurt her…” She releases Jenny slowly, watching PT’s eyes even as Jenny turns to look at him, silently trembling even as she moves into Charity’s side, soft fingers slipping up Jenny’s side to her waist, Jenny’s own grip tight on Charity’s coat, the woman’s breathing barely concealed sobs. “Go. Sort your little circus… I’ll finish the tour with Jenny. Without you…. You can take this time to figure out if you really want us at all.” He's gone in minutes and Charity sighs, moving to gently wipe away further tears, her voice soft. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” They have mere hours to make their train but Charity doesn’t much care, she’s more worried about Jenny.

[ruvastuon]

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt

A Bad Time to Remember the Past

I wasn't planning on putting this guys perspective up yet, but it seemed to fit for the prompt, so I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Discriptions of medical procedures, violence, blood, burning skin, laceration, and dismemberment.

@wyked-ao3 (a bit more on the villain of my story. He now has a proper name! Albrecht)

Glossary:

(In case you are curious about any of the terms in the medical procedure)

Topical Benzocaine: a gel spread on skin to numb before injections.

Articaine: a type of numbing agent injected locally in tissue to numb an area.

Epinephrine: used in local anesthesia to increase the duration of numbness by constricting blood vessels in the area and preventing the local anesthesia from being absorbed by the blood stream as quickly.

Buccal: the gum tissue covering the outer side of teeth.

Palatal: tissue over the top of the mouth on the inner side of the teeth.

Maxila: upper jaw

Nerve block: an injection that targets higher on a nerve branch to numb more tissue at once.

Infiltrations: injections that target a specific area and numbs the nerves directly adjacent to the injection by targeting the approximate location.

Now, back to the story.

Topical benzocaine followed a minute after by 2 carpules of Articaine HCI 4% 1:100,000 epi. Infiltrations for the buccal and a nerve block for the palatal side of the right maxila. Within minutes he’d watched as the surgeon took out a scalpel and carefully cut gum tissue down to the bone and gently peeled it back as the patient lay, mouth open, not even flinching. Then the drill had come, and with a whir of mechanical power, the bone was carefully bored down to expose the gaping sinus.

Of all the things that Albrecht had been forced to observe in his mandatory job placement hours, this was the one that really stood out to him. It was fascinating what a little chemical compound could do to dull the senses. He’d even been able to hold a mundane conversation with the man about his line of work while the surgeon scurried off to attend some other matters.

Another wave of explosions rocked by him. Albrecht’s head screamed in pain as that long forgotten memory snapped back into the recesses of his mind where it belonged. With both armies cowering in the darkness, he should have been on the cusp of his victory, the whole world bathed in beautiful darkness by his machines. Yet here he stood, recalling the memories of a child, a fool who didn’t understand the meaning of his own destiny.

Looking about him in confusion Albrecht’s teeth gnashed at the husks of his elite soldiers, boiled in their own skin at the shine of an artificial sun. Ever calculating, he could already see that what remained of his force wouldn’t last long after such a devastating attack. Ten blasted years of preparation… all for something like this? The fangs under his mask ached as he fought for control of his raging mind. His careful planning should have seen him to the end, in the way that it always had.

The power coursing through his veins spiked as the pieces of his strength once gifted to his thralls all began to converge back into him in a wave of sickening pressure. The feeling blinded him, and for the first time in his long life, Major Albrecht lost his ever firm grip on reason. Head snapping towards the source of his misfortune, he narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists.

Using his powers, the Major smoothly dropped into the shadows and quickly traveled in their protection until he came upon the small vehicle, still driving away at a speed far beyond its natural means. There were four, no five of them, as far as he could tell, but it made no difference. They would all be dead soon enough.

With an enraged roar, Albrecht materialized in the shadow of the car and dug his teeth into the little warlock at greatest fault for this downfall. The man yelped in pain and raised one hand to secure the hat on his head before using another to push Albrecht away so he could stop the bleeding. He had no intention of letting him live.

A glimmer of something shiny peaked out from underneath, but he had little time to dwell on it as a stake was driven almost into his heart. Whirling around on the would-be attacker, the Major sunk his claws deep into their forearm, tearing through it with a growl of surprise at the strangely wooden texture. He grinned in satisfaction as a sharp hiss of pain rang out from whatever the thing was. It still felt pain, so even if it wasn’t human, he could still break it.

Half drunk on this strange ecstasy, he almost missed the smell of steel. His mind suddenly flared with a sense of danger, and he pulled away as a shot rang out, hitting the side of his helmet and exposing part of his face to the blasted false sun.

Like a bucket of boiling water, the pain brought him back into focus, and Albrecht immediately retreated into the shadows, taking the limb he’d managed to sever with him. With his armor damaged even this much, he wasn’t fool enough to risk an end to his plans even with his spiked blood lust.

Note: The procedure mentioned at the beginning of the chapter is for a sinus lift to increase the bone level enough to place a dental implant.

[polizwrites]

Melting Down

This is a fill for today’s  @flashfictionfridayofficial  prompt [#FFF271 Tantrum Entrance]  as well as my post @julybreakbingo square   Being there for someone after a traumatic event 

Fandom: MCU/Marvel Pairing: Tony Stark/Pepper Potts Rating: General Tags:  Canon Compatible, Established Relationship, Post Iron-Man 3,  Extremis!Pepper Summary:  Pepper has a meltdown; Tony comes up with a helpful suggestion  Word Count: 416 words.  

Tony had always thought Pepper was hot; and now it was literal as well as figurative, thanks to that asshole Killian.  Holding what he assumed were the remnants of her phone, Pepper was already aglow as she stomped into his workshop.   

 “Honey,” he said as soothingly as he could, even as  Dum-E trundled over to the fire extinguisher, “remember, deep breaths and count to ten.”  

“How the fuck am I supposed to get any work done when everything I touch bursts into flame?!” she shouted, throwing her arms wide in frustration.  “I’ve gone through four keyboards and two tablets just this week, and now my phone is toast!” She hurled  the melted mess to the ground.   “You promised you could fix me, Tony!” 

Tony’s heart went out to his beloved, despite her fiery fit of pique. “Yes I did, sweetheart, and I’ve got every single one of JARVIS’ processors working on it.  See?”  He gestured, bringing up a holoscreen with the latest round of simulations.   “We’re up to a 91.75% projected success rate. Give me another week and we’ll be ready to go.”   

A sudden thought occurred to him; it wouldn’t solve the bigger problem, but might help with the immediate issue.  “Hey J, you have access to Miss Potts’ account and files don’t you?” 

“If given permission, yes.”   His AI understood where Tony  was going with his question and projected a holoscreen and hard light keyboard in front of Pepper.  She blinked in surprise, then - with only a little awkwardness - typed in what Tony assumed was her password.  

Her desktop appeared on the screen;  Tony was flattered to see it was an image of the armor. She reached out, tapping an icon to open her email.  “Huh.  I guess I can’t set this on fire.”  

“Nope,” Tony popped the P of his reply.  “Give me a half-hour and we’ll get this all set up  in your office.  That and an asbestos cushion for your desk chair and you’ll be set.” 

She huffed out a soft laugh as the glow under her skin faded.   “I guess I should be thankful I haven’t burned up any of my Jimmy Choos  yet.”  

“Now that would be a shame.”  Tony held out his arms and she sank gratefully into his embrace.   “It’s gonna be okay, Pep.  We got this.” 

“I’m sorry I’m such a hot mess,” she mumbled into the crook of his neck. 

“Like I said before,” Tony pressed a kiss to her hair, “join the club.”   

[angelfevr]

[id: a red banner adorned with flames. there's white text that reads, "#fff271 tantrum entrance." end id].

misguided

[pt: misguided]

fandom: zero escape (post-ztd, spoilers apply)

words: 224

[id: a white divider that looks like torn paper. end id].

@flashfictionfridayofficial

A snail’s lifespan is up to three to seven years in the wild. 

Akane knows this, but the thoughts Stupid snail, stupid Delta, stupidstupidstupid even stupider me rub against her brain like bristles. Delta’s dead, and will continue to be dead, in this timeline.

That leaves one person, besides herself.

Sigma Klim has the audacity to enter her office unannounced. Like father, like son. 

“Still giving me the silent treatment?” He asks, closes the door behind him. “How are we going to catch the religious fanatic when we can't even communicate?”

It's funny he says that. Dr. Klim, imitating communication? Hilarious. Ground breaking. What. A. Joke. 

It's today that she recalls learning about Free the Soul while looking for intel on Cradle. How Hongou used their funding for the Nonary Project. What would she tell her past self then, if she could? 

oh hey so you're going to have to call on someone whose bastard son ruined your life. have fun with that! 

People note similarities between her and Klim. But they're as true as playground rumors. She was the one who picked up after him, his son left without a father. She gave him a purpose. 

She can't be like him. There's no way. That would imply– 

As Sigma turns his back toward her, Akane tears a piece of paper limb from limb. 

[lizardperson]

pastry bribery

fandom: original work rating: g wc: 335 prompt: #fff271 tantrum entrance for @flashfictionfridayofficial

---

"...and I still can't believe she called me a brat?!" "Well, you are one sometimes," Gabriel shrugged, earning an annoyed glare. He wasn't wrong - right now, Mika was an especially cranky brat. Since she came home earlier, already in a foul mood, she had been ranting and raving about work basically nonstop. "That's not the fucking point! It's fine when I call myself that, or when you do! But my fucking Karen-coworker better watch it, before I push her down some stairs!" She rolled her eyes at Gabriel's raised eyebrow. "What? I'm not gonna, obviously," she grumbled, watching him start his dinner preparations. "Seriously, fish? Again? I hate that!" Another raised eyebrow. "Since when?" "Since now," she complained and crossed her arms. Then she finally noticed the little cardboard box on the counter. "What's this?" "New fancy bakery by the office. Thought you'd like those." Mika opened the box to discover some very nice-looking cupcakes. "Huh." That unexpected sweet gesture threw her off and the crankiness dissipated in an instant. It actually shouldn't be that much of a surprise, he did stuff like that all the time. He also patiently listened to her ranting for half an hour just now, even though his day had probably been equally annoying. The sudden realization visibly affected her. "You okay?" Gabriel gently stroked her cheek. She leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes for a moment to calm down, then she sighed. "Are my tits really worth putting up with all my bullshit?" "Definitely," he chuckled while wrapping his arms around her tightly. "Good." He gave her a probing look when they separated again. "Feeling better?" "Yeah," Mika grimaced. Somehow, that old man managed to vanquish her bad moods every time, and she loved him very much for it. "Sorry about the tantrum." "Don't worry about it." Gabriel pressed a kiss on her forehead. "Want me to make something else for dinner?" "Nah, fish is fine. Those cupcakes look pretty nice, by the way."

[a-victorian-girl]

OMG I love this woman!

Sherlock fandom

A Delicate Flower

Martha Hudson may seem frail and vulnerable to people who don’t know her. Those who have made her acquaintance in one capacity or another, retracts their claim quite quickly. Even the British government has a secret appreciation for her. She’s a force of nature, just like her two tenants upstairs. Speaking of…

“NO! Absolutely not!” John shouts.

Martha picks up on Sherlock’s protest but not his exact words. Therefore, she hurries to grab a tin of biscuits to bring upstairs. It’s been silent for weeks, and she has begun to wonder if John has tamed Sherlock into a boring adult. 

When she emerges in the doorway to 221B, she regrets that she didn’t bring popcorn. Sherlock’s tantrum is at least a seven on Martha’s secret scale. (Mind you, not only consulting detectives have those.) 

“It’s my blog, John!” Sherlock exclaims. “To do with as I please. You’ve said it yourself that it’s too scientific. Adding you into the equation, will make it much more interesting. People want to know things about you too. I don’t understand why it bothers you to this extent.”

His hands have done significant damage to his curls. He looks like a mix between a deranged scientist and a petulant child. In Martha’s book he’s habitually both.

“Well, it does,” John counters defiantly.

The good doctor is childishly stubborn sometimes, but he rarely budges if the topic is important to him. More often than not, it’s the delicate flower of a genius that gives in when he realises that the battle is lost. And then, he craves the physical closeness only his army doctor can provide.

Martha looks around, trying to discover what the argument is about. When she realises what it is, she’s glad she didn’t choose the popcorn, or John would’ve needed to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre on her.

She stifles a laugh and Sherlock stares daggers at her. He actually stomps his feet like a toddler, and a choked sound escapes her throat.

Petri dishes with different ash samples are placed on the kitchen table. Each item is carefully marked. Martha only glimpses a few that are in her field of vision.

John’s shoelaces – Wool from John’s favourite jumper – John’s pants (the red/sexy ones)

Martha leaves the biscuit tin on the table and descends to 221A to indulge in her herbal soothers. 

Murmuring voices half an hour later tell her that peace has been restored. For now.

----------------------------------------------------------

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